


Crush

by whereismygarden



Series: play on, give me excess [12]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Golden Lace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lacey ends up going to Gold after a bad night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

                Lacey’s dress was a good color on her, Ruby had said: it was dark blue and the soft fabric flowed down to her ankles. It had been made for someone with more bust, but there were only so many choices at the thrift store: Ruby proved to be decent with a needle and had shortened the straps to make it fit better. Ruby herself had forgone her usual red for a short, tight black dress that Lacey envied. In fact, Ruby was much more striking than her in stockings and high heels all in black, and had abandoned her and Ashley for approximately half the male population of Storybrooke High.

                For all that the gym had an uneven floor badly in need of redoing and the Winterfest decorating committee had been the sophomore art class, Ruby looked like a queen surrounded by her knights (though a heavily mascaraed queen and rather forward, sordid knights). Lacey could not begrudge her friend a moment in the spotlight, and she was not good company anyway. Ashley, whom she was not fond of unless Ruby was there to temper her presence, was dancing with her beloved Sean, the two of them disgusting her with the glances they were giving each other. So her only company was her bad thoughts and Greg, who kept trying to pull her toward the dance floor. He was only doing it so he would have a convenient excuse to grope her, and she wouldn’t have minded if his groping wasn’t so completely unsatisfactory.

                “Lacey, won’t you dance?” he groused, and she gave him a flat stare over her plastic cup of school punch, special recipe courtesy of Coach Knight.

                “Fine,” she snapped, tossing the cup into a trashcan, and wondered if she was glad or irritated that the next song was a slow one. Greg managed to pass as a gentleman, holding her close but not so close that he was looking down her dress too obviously. She needed to get away from her sour musings for a minute anyway, and it was nice to know that _someone_ still wanted her. Gold certainly hadn’t been interested last week—ten days, though she wished she wasn’t so absolutely sure of when she had last seen him—and if Greg still was, it didn’t matter. All was well with the world, she could get anyone she wanted, and she smirked to herself when a few of the boys around Ruby eyed her for a moment.

                Gold had moved on: she had become boring, or too dangerous, or maybe he wanted someone to talk to besides her. He’d been happy enough to write a check for Mary Margaret: maybe the teacher was better conversation than she was. She would have snorted at the idea—good luck getting the squeaky clean fifth grade teacher into bed, Gold—except that he had pushed her away that night. Told her to go home and occupy herself.

                Dancing was only making her more gloomy, and she abandoned Greg halfway through the second song, his sweaty hands too hot on her waist. He snapped something after her as she slid away, moving into the crowd of people dancing without partners. It only took a few minutes before she was pressed between two others, grinding to something fast and mindless and loud, and this was better than dancing with someone. She only had to worry about her own movements, and they melded with everyone around hers. An accidental elbow in the ribs was nothing to worry about, and forty minutes later, when she was thirsty enough to leave the floor, her hair was half out of its bun and she was sticky with sweat, but she didn’t care.

                “Hey,” Ruby found her, miraculously rid of her entourage, when she was leaning over the water fountain, gulping eagerly. She straightened and wiped her mouth, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

                “You’re popular tonight,” she said lightly. Ruby smiled a little and picked a nonexistent piece of thread from her dress, flicking at the air with long nails. Lacey hadn’t redone hers in a good three weeks: the silver polish was chipped and the ends ragged, but Gold had told her he liked the way they looked wrapped around his cock, and she had left it. Irritated at the reminder of her little lapse into sentimentality, she tried to focus on Ruby. “Billy is definitely all over you,” she said, smirking at Ruby’s blush. “Oh, so it’s a little serious.” Ruby smacked her on the arm, more giddy than upset.

                “Oh, shut up, Lacey-who-only-goes-with-one-guy-these-days,” she returned, sniffing and looking arch. Lacey spat into the water fountain, ignoring Ruby’s wrinkled nose.

                “I think he’s done with me, actually,” she said airily, and Ruby made a what-can-you-do? movement and shrugged.

                “I guess that’s what you get when you sleep with someone like him,” she said casually, and Lacey felt her face turn wounded, just for a second, but then her mask crumpled and she turned her head sharply, away from Ruby. “I mean—shit, Lacey, I didn’t know you were into him beyond the, you know, sex.” Lacey shrugged, trying to keep her voice steady.

                “It’s not a big deal: please, since when do I get sentimental about men?” Still, she had to breathe very slowly and deep to force back a few tears. Of course she had to think about it all here, not in her room alone. She was ten different kinds of stupid for having an affair in the first place. “Go enjoy your night with Billy,” she said lightly, and hurried away, seeking the oblivion of the heat and darkness of the dance floor.

                The night was almost salvaged when she was careless enough to dance in the vicinity of Cara Vincent’s boyfriend, and the girl stepped toe-to-toe with her, glaring through heavy eyeliner and sneering with dark pink lips. Lacey thought impassively that it was not flattering for her complexion, and curled her lip at the boy in question, who had slunk away at his girlfriend’s glare.

                “Please get out of here, Lacey,” she said, voice too-sweet and sharp. “You’re lowering the tone of the whole _dance_.” Lacey would have preferred a punch, not being in a mood to deal with the words like a blow to her gut.

                “Dearie, you lower the tone of every street you walk down, but it’s polite to not say so,” she replied coolly, and wondered if she would be expelled if she broke Cara’s nose. Cara stared down her nose and folded her arms, not backing down.

                “I don’t get on my back for half the town,” she snapped, and someone next to her tittered. Lacey twisted her mouth, suddenly furious in addition to hurt. She wasn’t sure whose fault it was that everyone believed Cara, but she could count on one hand the boys at Storybrooke she’d slept with, and right now she didn’t give a damn about a single one of them.

                “Just your knees,” she spat, looking around for Ruby: even Cara quailed under the force of Ruby’s sheer personality. Ashley was the only person close she knew, though, looking at the fight with one hand around Sean’s waist. “Please, I can name ten girls who’ve fucked more guys than me. I just don’t date.” More giggles followed this pronunciation, and she wondered where exactly in her sentence she’d screwed up.

                “A lady doesn’t… _kiss_ … and tell,” Cara said, a half-smile on her lips. “Right, Ashley?” Ashley blinked, the colored lights reflecting off her eyes making her look like a deer in high beams.

                “Right,” she said uncertainly, and at Cara’s prodding glare, nodded sanctimoniously. “Slut,” she directed at Lacey, and even some of the guys around them curled their lips at her. She bared her teeth at them, in a show of a smile, and bowed mockingly.

                “If my presence offends,” she said coldly, unable to strangle the catch in her voice. She pushed her way blindly through the rest of the dancers and stalked outside the gym, taking in gulps of cold air and trying to keep from sobbing. Since when had she ever cared that people thought she was a slut? Since Ashley denied her in front of other people, maybe, or just since she had been wondering whether she was worthless to everyone.

                Maybe not everyone. Greg had followed her outside and was standing awkwardly a few feet away, hands in his pockets and breath clouding in the freezing air.

                “Are you okay?” he said uncertainly.

                “Please fuck off,” she snarled, wiping at her eyes and turning her back. He only shuffled his feet.

                “Look, don’t worry about assholes. I know you’re cool, and I’m pretty sure Cara has herpes so I wouldn’t listen to her.” His absurd attempt at cheering her up made her give a mildly hysterical laugh. “I know you don’t do the whole being in love thing but you’re my friend, okay?” She remained standing stiffly, and he sighed impatiently, teeth chattering. “See you.”

                For all that he could be a pushy, handsy bastard he could be nice at times. It wasn’t his comfort she wanted now, though. She turned off the ringer on her phone, because no doubt he had gone in to tell Ruby what had happened. The walk from school to her apartment was only a mile and a half, but she found herself continuing past it, embracing the coldness that was sinking through her entire body. Her makeup must be all over her face, and she was walking down the streets of town in a formal dress with the dance not even half over.

                She knew which house was Gold’s, when she ended up in the suburbs, but she circled the block twice before she took reluctant steps up the wooden porch stairs to knock at the door. It had stained glass set into it, lightly backlit from somewhere inside. His house would be as nice as his shop, probably. No room for piles of magazines and newspapers and dirty clothes and weepy high-schoolers.

                Gold opened the door and his eyes widened at the sight of her. Before she could anything, he had her hands in his and was pulling her gently inside.

                “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” She couldn’t read his face through the haze of tears that wouldn’t stop coming, and she was sobbing and hiccupping, and couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

                “Do you think I’m worthless?” she asked, and the panicky, needy tone among the crying only made her shake more. He went very still, and squeezed her hands. “Do you think I’m a slut?” What a stupid question, with an answer that shouldn’t matter: he wasn’t even her friend, just the man she fucked with no strings attached. His feelings about her shouldn’t matter, but they did.

                “Of course not,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her. “I think you’re smart and beautiful and funny and sensible.” He kissed her forehead, then her closed eyes, then her nose. “Lacey, you’re worth a hundred of most of the people in this stupid little place.” She could only sob harder and let him keep pressing his lips over her dirty, damp face.

                “You wouldn’t touch me,” she protested. He shushed her, pulling her close so her head was against his shoulder.

                “You seemed upset. I didn’t want to take advantage. You’re usually calmer than that, to start, when we…” he trailed off, as if saying the word _fuck_ would offend her. She pressed her fingers into his back, hard enough that she could feel some of his ribs through his vest and shirt.

                “And you were angry, that day, and you gave Mary Margaret money for the damn school program and she looked at me like I was something bad and I was trying to say sorry for whatever I did—“ She made herself stop babbling, trying not to enjoy the comfort of Gold’s warmth on her icy skin when it couldn’t last.

                “You didn’t do anything. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His voice was calm, if strained, and he kept kissing her temples and hair softly, his hands rubbing her back and bare shoulders.

                “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” she was hysterical and she couldn’t stop the words, “I really like you, and I didn’t mean to, and people call me a slut and I’m sorry I came and bothered you and I’m really really sorry for everything, and I won’t come and see you again, I just don’t want you to think I’m a slut like everyone else does, because I haven’t even kissed anyone else since you and me and I’m really sorry.” She made herself stop, and heaved in a shaking breath. “I’m just, really, sorry.”

                “Lacey, stop apologizing.” He loosened her hair, releasing a tightness in her scalp, and made her look at his face, which was sad and serious. “Lacey, you’re not a slut. Okay?” He gave her his handkerchief and let her dab at her face with it. She couldn’t nod, when her head and jaw were tight with the effort of not crying out loud, and tears were still slipping from her eyes. “I like you too: I was upset ten days ago because I wanted more than just a quick fuck in the alley, and I thought you didn’t.” She blinked, surprised at his words, and a little amused that he remembered the days too. “I wrote Mary Margaret a check so the council would have a record of me doing something charitable.”

                “Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. She wished she had something to kick, but Gold still had one arm around her while the other clutched his cane, holding her still and close. He bent his face closer to hers and very slowly, gently pressed his lips to hers. She realized, with a shock, that they’d never kissed. She’d tasted a great deal of his body, but the soft pressure of dry lips was new. He kept his eyes half-open, looking at her for confirmation, and she pushed back a little. Kissing wasn’t an area she was too familiar with: quick fumbles didn’t involve anything as gentle as this.

                Gold’s lips moved, sucked at hers, and a few steps with his hand on her waist guiding had them sitting down on a couch, his free hand shoving aside a stack of books. He kept his hands on her face and hair and just kissed her, slowly, deeply, tasting every part of her mouth with his tongue. He tasted like toothpaste and something that must be himself. They were unhurried, calm, and Lacey thought Gold wouldn’t care if they did nothing more than kiss all night. She buried her frozen fingers in his hair and leaned against him: it was odd, not to be moving to straddle him or tease him through his clothes, but pleasant. The heat that she always held for him was quiet, not demanding at the moment.

                “You taste wonderful,” Gold muttered into her ear, after her fingers and arms were warm and they’d been sitting together for long minutes. She smiled weakly at his compliment.

                “It’s the punch at the dance,” she assured him, and found that despite this very odd situation, she felt half fine.

                “It’s you,” he replied, his voice dropping down to the pitch he spoke in when he was aroused. Lacey felt the low hunger in her belly spike sharply at his tone, and smiled as he bit the sides of her throat, going from soft kisses to hungry licks. “I always want you, Lacey.” His right hand drifted to grasp her waist. “And you’re fucking stunning in blue.”

                “Thrift shop,” she spoke casually, though her heart fluttered at his words, and ran a cautious finger up his thigh. “I don’t really have the figure for it.” Gold put his face against the exposed skin of her collarbone and exhaled raggedly.

                “It doesn’t matter, I’m about to take it off of you,” he said thickly, and Lacey felt her anxiety lessen a bit, while the tightness between her legs grew. This was familiar: he wanted her, still. Everything else they could sort out later, like her stupid confession that she _liked_ him and that his opinion mattered. She plucked at the skirt of her dress, the slippery material not wanting to stay hitched up her legs. Gold put his hand over hers, rubbing his face into her neck.

                “I mean I’m going to take you upstairs and undress you myself and make you come until you can’t talk,” he amended, and she swallowed, liking the mixture of heat and care in his eyes as he raised his face to look at her. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of you, all right? I care about _you._ ”

                He stood up, and she waggled her eyebrows at the strained front of his trousers, killing the tender moment before it became uncomfortable. He gave her his best filthy grin and held his hand out. She put hers in it, feeling the last of the cold leave her fingertips when he brought them to his mouth and kissed them hard.

                His room was reddish and rosy, but she didn’t have much time to appreciate the colors. Gold had spent the walk upstairs tracing what little of her breasts the dress bared, dipping down into her bra to tease at her nipples, and kissing the back of her neck. When he shut the door behind them, she simply turned her back and let him tug at the straps and zipper till it was falling down. His hands rested on her ribs, and she wondered if he liked the way she looked. They’d never properly undressed together.

                 Gold’s hand slid down her waist and hip, then crept forward to tease her through her knickers. The rougher cloth of his trousers rubbed at her legs and contrasted with the soft fabric of his dress shirt: at some point, he’d discarded his vest and tie. She braced her hands against the wall as he moved his fingers through her curls, his touch turning her as trembling and wet as ever. He unhooked her bra and pulled it down her arms, tapping her hands until she took them off the wall and leaned against him.

                “Bed, remember?” he said. “I want to be able to see you.” She let him pull her towards the bed and then push her onto her back, legs still over the edge and feet on the ground. She reached to unbutton his shirt, but he ducked out of her way and pulled up one foot, unbuckling her shoe, then did the same to the other. The silvery sandals dropped to the floor with a thud, and Gold nudged her farther onto the bed, dragging back the covers and pulling her slip over her hips, leaving her in just her underwear, spread out on his bed.

                She wished she knew what he was thinking, as he stared down at her with a greedy look. He was still hard, so she guessed he liked what he saw, but the intense scrutiny unnerved her. He sat down as well, kicked off his shoes, and she sat up to undo his shirt, pulling at the buttons with quick fingers.

                “Lie down,” he said, voice a growl, and pulled her knickers down to her knees, then off with another yank. She finished taking his shirt off, tossed the soft navy blue fabric to the floor, and complied. He was thin under his layers, but not skeletal: not as muscular as some women preferred, but she’d never found him lacking before she’d seen him shirtless. Gold disturbed her examination of his figure when he moved her legs up, so her feet nearly pressed against her buttocks, and promptly took away all her worry about how exposed she was by drawing his tongue through her wet folds and flicking at her clit. Apparently he felt the same way.

                “Oh,” she managed, voice a rather mewling whine, as he licked and licked and _licked_ until she was twitching and crying out, fingers buried in his hair. He hummed against her, sending a pleasant shock through her thighs, and she felt her breathing deepen and quicken in the way that meant she was coming close to the edge. He kept his steady rhythm of licking at that one place just to the right of her clit that made her moan the loudest, and she felt his smile as her legs started to shake and twitch uncontrollably.

                “Yes,” she managed to moan, then lost speech as her mind splintered. Gold kissed her before her mind was even half clear, and the odd, complicated flavor that was _her_ filled his mouth.

                “There,” he muttered, bringing his hands to her breasts to tease at her nipples and call up her hunger once more. “I could taste that every day and never get tired.” Lacey snickered into his mouth and reached for the waistband of his trousers, undoing button and fly with practiced fingers.

                “That’s charming,” she laughed. He bit the skin of her neck and sucked hard, something he hadn’t done in a long while. It made her shiver, and she shifted under him, trying to spread her legs. “Mmm,” she said, grinning at him, and ground her hips up into his. He reached a hand between her legs and toyed with her clit, spreading the moisture that lingered, and his fingers slipped easily over her, even when he sped up and pressed harder.

                “I like to watch your face and listen to you when I do this,” he said, voice making her heart thud and breath catch. “God, Lacey, you’re so beautiful when you come, when you’re coming for me, when it’s my hands on you that make you feel good.” His words blurred as he slid a finger inside her while he rubbed her, and she closed her eyes, then fluttered them open again. He liked to watch her: and the first time they had ever done this, he’d made her keep her eyes open, look at him.

                She ended up with her head thrown back into the pillows anyway, sobbing his name, and she eased his hand away from the hot, swollen parts of herself, limbs feeling soft and heavy. They did this roughly, outside or on tables: and he didn’t intend to stop. A glance at the clock told her it was only ten-thirty.

                “Take your pants off,” she ordered, and he squirmed out of his trousers and boxers, wincing as he bent his knee. “Here, lie on your back so you don’t have to do the work.” He complied with a shivery laugh, keeping his eyes on hers.

                “You’re not usually so bossy,” he said, and she paused, frowning.

                “Shit,” she said quietly. She was still burning up for him and he was hard, half baring his teeth as he looked at her. “I don’t have any condoms.” Her phone and a few dollars inside the case were all she had brought to the dance.

                “Under the sink in the bathroom,” he gasped, wrapping a hand around his cock as she slid off the bed and hurried to find one. Everything in his house was formal and respectable and neat, but under the bathroom counter he had a mess like anyone: an empty soap box, a rusty-hinged first aid kit, and—she smiled—an orange package that held what she needed. She tore it open as she walked back into the bedroom and rolled it onto him the moment she climbed back into bed, replacing his hand with hers and positioning herself over his cock. He moaned when she slid quickly onto him, taking him deep inside and rocking her hips against him without preamble.

                “Lacey,” he panted, and gripped her hips with his hands. Hers fell to his shoulders: the bed was too soft to brace herself on properly. She stared down, moving up and down, and got to see his face turn tight and vicious with pleasure. They made a sight, she knew, naked and desperate, the lights still on and her face a mess of tears and eyeliner. But Gold’s dark eyes looked at her as though she were something special, moving between her eyes and lips and breasts and where his cock slid in and out of her. She liked the feel of him, thick and hot inside her, rubbing against every ridge and fold, brushing at the edge of pleasure. And the sight of his relishing of her, of his face transported and eyes hazy, was even better.

                He finished before her legs started to ache, and he rolled her onto her side and kissed her once more. The feeling of his cock sliding out of her made her whimper with want, and he sent her to the bathroom again, with a suggestion to just bring the box out.

                The bedsheets had enough damp patches that Gold threw a towel into the bed and Lacey was hardly able to move to look at the clock when they finally finished. One-thirty: they’d taken a break for water, and Gold had a refractory period like any man, but really, it was impressive, she thought. They’d more than made up for their days apart, and Gold’s arm curved around her waist was a comfort. He’d switched off the lights, and her eyelids were heavy and her limbs watery. So when her eyes slipped closed and she moved only to pull up the blankets, she was already half asleep.

                She woke up to music playing: acoustic guitar, crackly through the radio. A glance to her left showed it was Gold’s alarm, and it was only seven thirty. Grumbling, still not fully awake, she groped for the off switch.

                “ _I’m living in a foreign country, but I’m bound to cross the line. Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine. Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm.”_  She realized what had happened just as she turned off the radio, and her heart and stomach lurched. She was in Gold’s bed. She had slept next to him, and she could still feel his heat beside her. A part of her—most of her—wanted to scurry out of bed and run out of his house, but that wouldn’t work. All she had was her blue gown, and walking out of Gold’s house in that would unleash hell on him and her both. Instead, she glanced over to Gold, who was half-awake, eyes sleepy.

                “Good morning,” she ventured, and dissolved into nervous giggles. He gave her a brief smile and put his face against her shoulder. “We have a few problems,” she pointed out, and he murmured a ‘yes’ into her skin.

                “I need to make another trip to the drugstore before another night like this, for one,” he said, a filthy note in his voice. She smirked at him and sat up, the cold air rushing unpleasantly over her skin.

                “I need a shower,” she said firmly, and managed to dash across the room, into the bathroom, and turn on the hot water before she started to shiver too much. She didn’t want to see her face in the mirror, so she faced the wall of the shower and tried to work her hands through her messy hair.

                “I’ve brought you a towel,” Gold’s voice announced, then she heard him withdraw, cane tapping. The warm water washed away the streaks of makeup on her face, the hairspray from her messy locks, and the sticky feeling between her legs. She dried off, standing in the steam, and wrapped the towel around herself as tightly as she could.

                Gold was standing in his room, hair damp, dressed in trousers and shirt and socks only. He gave her an uncertain smile.

                “I don’t have any clothes for you,” he said uneasily, and she shrugged, finding her knickers and bra from the night before. They weren’t anything other than a little sweaty from the dance, and would have to do.

                “A shirt?” she suggested, and he brought one from his closet: a deep red dress shirt, that came over her hips and halfway down her thighs. He left the room with an uncertain look at her, and she fished among her dress for her phone. There was a surfeit of unanswered texts from Ruby, and she winced. Ruby would be angry with her for ignoring her all night. She tapped out: sorry. Im alive. If dad asks i spent the night w/you. Explain later.

                It would have to do for the moment, because if she wasn’t careful everything with Gold would shatter. She went downstairs to find him making something in the kitchen, and he glanced up when she walked in the room.

                “What are you doing?” she asked. He blinked and gestured at the pan he was stirring.

                “Making breakfast.” She blinked in her turn: that was very much something _couples_ did, not her and Gold, even if she’d fallen asleep in his arms. She shifted, her bare feet turning icy on the floor.

                “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He shrugged, and stirred the contents of the pan.

                “No matter. Both of us did.” She plopped into a chair, still sleepy, and rested her head on her arm. He glanced her way sometimes, and a few minutes later, presented her with a bowl of oatmeal, with blueberries.

                “Very healthy,” she said, and tried some. Usually she had leftovers, if she had breakfast at all. Sometimes she remembered to buy a box of dry cereal if she was getting the groceries. “So I’m not running off first thing,” she pressed, and he smiled a little.

                “I’m glad.”

                “I’m not dating you,” she assured him. “I’m just not fucking and leaving so much.” She stirred her bowl, watching the blueberries stain the oats purple in swirls. “Also I’m going to keep coming to talk to you.” He nodded.

                “Of course not. I may come to talk to you. Wherever you care to meet.”

                She would have to find some clothes to wear out of here, and she would have to explain everything to Ruby again. But the feeling of being wanted, not an expendable body or interchangeable conversation partner, was as warming as the breakfast he’d cooked for her in his confusion. He liked _her_ , and he she wondered if the odd, reaching feeling in her chest was what people called a crush.

                “I like here, this house. I like your bed,” she added. He toed at her leg under the table.

                “Me too, especially with you in it. But we could always try yours,” he suggested. She finished her oatmeal and slid out of her chair, under the table, and ran her hand up his leg. The world could hang itself for a few more minutes before she left.

                “Let’s try right here,” she replied, and he drew a shuddering breath. Just because things were a little tenderer than they had been was no reason to stop driving him mad at every chance she got.

**Author's Note:**

> This story's lyrics come from Bob Dylan's classic "Shelter From The Storm."
> 
> This fic obviously has a bit of commentary on slut shaming, which is a complicated topic. If you think I handled it poorly, feel free to start a discussion. Politely, please.


End file.
